


Burn Your Heart With Whiskey

by comets_nix



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Cussing, Depressing, Drinking, M/M, Sad, Slight trigger warning, Violence, alcoholic, warrens recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9804863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comets_nix/pseuds/comets_nix
Summary: Alcohol has always been Warrens best fried- no matter how much it seemed to stab him in the back or get him in trouble.It was his go-to, his way out. He needed it like he needed the wind beneath his wings, and the earth far below his feet. He can't remember a time when he would go a day with out it, or sleep peacefully without it's influence.But maybe now- here in this new home where people couldn't seem to stop caring for him- he didn't need it as much as he thought.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just really old, but here it is anyways.

Addiction has always a big thing in Warrens life.  
When he was younger, it started with smoking. He got with the wrong people soon after leaving home to live on the streets, and within a year it became almost a pack a day. It grounded him; calmed his mind and helped him forget the major problems and all the pain. It let him escape for a few minutes to just sit and breathe.But when he went on his own way, deciding he had had enough of people and mutants, he picked up alcohol within a night and forgot the cigarettes that made his hands shake and his chest burn. _You can’t fly with black lungs;_ he realized.  
Who knows how it could have started. Maybe a party he spotted or was dragged into by random strangers after a heavy night of aching withdraw and lack of sleep. Warren probably picked up a random bottle and let whatever the substance was inside just do its job.  
Or maybe he had grown sick of headaches and lip chewing and flying through the streets with nowhere to go, trying to get his mind off of smoking, and managed to get his hands on a beer.  
Maybe he saw a group of people in the streets; drunk and seemingly happy and oblivious to the world. So when they had left, maybe he had flown down and taken what what was left of what they had been drinking, hoping to get the same results.  
Either way, Warren was hooked before his body could even register what it was taking in.  
It was a downward spiral from those next nights on, and Warren soon found himself downing any bottle of whatever he could find as soon as the glass hit his hands.  
And when he was taken and kidnapped from the sky to be thrown in a cage, it din’t get any better.  
Warren fought and spat and split blood every night if it meant his captors would feel nice and toss him a bottle or two.  
It kept Warren going, he realizes. He could numb out the searing cuts and burns from the fights, the damned taunting of a fence above his head, and sit in his small cage and fall limp. It may not have been as much as Warren wanted, but it did the job good enough. Forget the rotten food he was given once a day- he had _this._  
And when that fateful night came where he was feeling good an on a roll- 10 rounds down and won- he knew he would be rewarded that night. He was proud of himself; ready to end the night with a blast and retire to his small cage, downing whatever they would give him. But when he lost focus for a split second, not expecting this blue asshole to teleport behind him and take him by the neck, all he got that night was a destroyed wing and ruined future.  
]em>‘Kill him.’ His mind hissed, knowing that any chance of beer and whiskey that night was gone. Warren would rip this kid apart; throw him to the guards and demand they give him what he wanted- even if he had failed and been hurt.  
But then the sparks flew. The cage hummed and hissed. The lights went out. And with a pop and echo- the crowd breaking into chaos- he was gone.  
***  
The night Warren was taken- however long ago it may have been- he had been sure to keep a stash of alcohol in the old barn. He could feel something was coming that night. He hadn’t known what until now; but he had known. He had loosened the wall board and hid what he had; the steady unease growing inside of him.  
So when he glided from building to building across Berlin as police sirens and flashing lights filled the streets after the upturned cage ring had been exposed, he knew he would finally get what his brain begged for.  
Warrens life fell apart as soon as he had thought it began. No wings meant no power. No power meant you had a good year before the world caught hold of you. So he crawled in through the broken window of his old barn and ripped his jacket off; hissing in pain and anger and tossing it to a rafter close by.  
As he stuck his arm between the loose boards of the wall in the back corner, now coated in thick dust and old webs, he sighed with relief and relaxed immediately as his fingers grazed the cold glass of what was his.  
That was another thing he realized. Alcohol barely aged. He could leave it a year, and come back. It would be there for him. His wings had broken. The sky had dropped him. He had failed at the only thing had started living for. But there was that vile substance that took it all away when nothing else could.  
So he drank everything he had that night. His old records looked up at him from the shelf he had last tossed them on, and he answered by putting a random one into the still working stereo.  
This was weird for him- everything turning back to normal in the matter of a single night. He felt himself beating his good wing against the wood to the beat of Metallica, and slipping away at a steady pace as he drank himself numb.  
Bottle one was gone in two minutes exactly. The next it was four. Then five. By his sixth, he had slowed down to a steady pace of twenty minutes, relaxing into the rafter as the heavy metal filled his ears made him feel home again.  
This was it. He was drunk, alone in the dark in his old barn with the electric guitar ripping through the air, and his vodka burning down his throat and in his stomach. He liked it like this, though. There was something about being drunk that made Warren just feel good about himself. Not many people can take ten bottles of Berlins finest in just half an hour. But he could.  
His heart slowed and his wings fell limp as he sat and collected back what was Warren Worthington.  
He had one bottle left, not counting the one he was currently working on. He knew he would regret in soon in about an hour and toss it all up on the floor, but that was okay. He was fine for right now; not a single care in his mind for himself or anyone else. This was his time to _forget._  
What wasn’t okay was the sudden glow of an electric field dissolving and revealing these three ass holes that just walked right in. People hadn’t taken his barn while he had been gone, had they? His stuff was all the same as he had left it, so why would…  
 _“Piss off.”_ Where did that bottle come from? Was that him that threw it?  
Mumbling from below. His eyes were blurry with the alcohol racing through his blood, and he flew down for a better look.  
Warren had forgotten that he only had one working wing, and stumbled in the air as he hit the rafters and landed unevenly on his feet. He was pissed by now, ready to just rip the head off of anyone who had dared come and ruin his final peace and-  
Betsy?  
 _Shit._  
The rush of any drunkenness flowing through Warren was suddenly drowned out. He hadn’t seen her in, well… forever. His eyes were now alert, and his wings and chest tensed up. He herd her comment on his wings, and the look she gave him sent a chill through his spine and turned into a boiling anger in his head.  
It was around this time Warren realized just how much he has screwed up.  
Whatever. She wasn’t a danger to him. What did her opinion matter to him!? These other mutants, though…  
He flew down, anger and numbness putting him in an uneven slur of words and movements.  
“What the hell is this?” He glanced at her but avoided her eyes; not ready to look at her after so long.  
Then this blue fuck face tried to tell him he knew what Warren wanted. As if, Warren thought. He was done with these idiots; he would just ignore them until they got sick of his music and drunkenness and stench and would leave. He turned his back, stomping off ready to go back to his usual routine of-  
Did he just drop that?  
Oh. _Oh…_  
Warren had thought for years that his wings and alcohol were the only two important and steady things in life. But he was glad he was proven wrong that night. The last sip of beer Warren took was just the small bit that hit his tongue before the bottle was ripped from his hands and thrown to the floor in a shatter and splash.  
But for the first time in Warrens life, he was okay with that.  
***  
In the time that Warren served Apocalypse, he didn’t lay eyes on a single bottle of anything. He was too busy helping an ancient god take over the world: no time to get drunk. Plus that, he didn’t _need_ it. For the first time in four years, Warren felt stronger than the dragging pull of vodka and whiskey.  
He thought Apocalypse had helped him- pulled him up from the hole he had dug for himself and drowned in in a muddy soup of depression and regret.  
He thought terribly wrong, of course.  
When the angel was pulled out from under the destroyed jet, the metal now cold and heavy as the fire died and the ash settled, he drank more than ever.  
It was kind of hard to get drunk in a school, however.  
In Warrens time of recovery down in the hospital wing of the mansion, spent locked under security with no windows or natural light, his stomach screamed at him for the hot substance it craved. He lay in his bed face down, and stared at the empty white wall to his side. He hadn’t had a craving this bad in many months, and he knew that in the end his stomach would win and he would have to find something soon.  
So when night came and this blue, hairy guy walked out for the night, locking the door and leaving only a lamp on, Warren waited.  
An hour and fifteen minutes he fought with himself and his mind; until with a strong pain of _missing_ shooting him in the gut and back, he got up.  
His wings were weak and holding on by a thread; white feathers small and messy in a broken heap of shattered mistakes. _Whatever_. He hated them. He did not care if they grew back or fell off. He did not care if the stupid mutants that lived here came in and smothered him in the night as payback. He did not care in an alarm would go off when he will pick his lock and open the door. He did not care if he stayed broken like this for the rest of his life. He didn’t care about his stupid wings, or his stupid dad, or Apocalypse or stupid professor-whatever that was in charge or if Betsy was alive or if the blue boy hated him as much as he hated himself.  
He did not care if he held on or let go. Right now, Warren Worthington III only cared about one thing. Disappearing.  
He didn’t need medical assistance or constant care.  
 _No._  
The only thing he needed right now was to get drunk and throw himself up until he passed out as his brain became mush and he could slip from the weight of this stupid reality.  
Getting out of bed was supposed to be difficult with his current condition. His wings were stunted in a freezing moment of decision, and the jagged, deep burns and lacerations across his face and hands were not exactly helping. But he managed it, and stood up from the bedside. He pulled the IV out of his pale skin gently, and let it fall to drip on the floor.  
The first steps were terrible. Warren tripped on his painful toes that were swollen and red, and grit his teeth as he caught himself on his broken hands. Pain seared through his skin, bones, and muscles up his arm as the bubbling and oozing burns were pressed against the spare bed next to his in order to catch himself.  
He gasped and froze as the pin pricking pain and bone shattering feeling took over his body in a hot wave; paralyzing him on the spot. His heart raced and his legs desperately wanted to give out, but he gripped the bed rail and pushed through it. Warren finally stood up straight as he let go of the bed, feeling his hands swell even more through the tight wraps as the pressure was released, and took in a deep breath. Spit and snot had clogged his throat since his rescue, but he gargled and swallowed it down with a dry tongue. He wiped his lip with his wrist, and took a deep breath, and another step forward.  
He set his left foot flat on the floor. Good. Then his next. Great. And again. Awesome. And again with his right. Perfect.  
He made it to the counter covered with countless surgery and medical supplies, and looked down at them. He bit his cheek as he spread his fingers against their will and constrain, and picked up a small, sharp object that was used for whatever. He held it with burning finger tips, and walked to the door.  
Ah, so he could still pick a lock. That would come in handy.  
Nothing happened when he pushed the door open to reveal the dim, empty hallway. He waited a moment; but was still greeted with silence. He tossed the tool to the floor, and it pierced the air in a clanging ring against the silence.  
Warren walked faster now down the hall in the direction the doctors always went when they left his room.  
What idiots they were, leaving him so unattended.  
He came across wide doors, and saw what must have been the schools hallways on the other side. Warren kept quiet and continued his journey on in search of the only thing that would help him now. Thank god schools had curfews; as he was the only one in the large hallways of Xaviers mansion.  
 _Wait._  
Shit, he didn’t know his way around, did he? Warren paused, ignoring the hot burning in his feet and hands, and looked around. He itched his face where it wasn’t wrapped with the back of his knuckles, and rolled his eyes. Fuck it, he can find a beer if he really wanted to.  
 _And damn, did he want to._  
***  
Warren had found what he wanted eventually. He couldn’t quiet remember exactly how or where anymore, but he knew it had come from the kitchen only a hour or so ago. What school just had a full stock of beer just sitting in the cupboards clean for the taking!? He didn’t care, really. He had forgotten his ruined hands easily and picked the two cases up, rushing to the nearest window he saw and squeezing himself out into the night.  
Which would explain why Warren now found himself half passed out, sprawled on the wet grass in the back yard of Xavieres mansion in total darkness.  
Well, it wasn’t _total_ darkness.  
The stars shone down on him as he lay a sweaty, cold, limp, hiccuping mess in the lawn that desperately needed to be mowed.  
Warren seemed to have perfected drinking while laying flat a long time ago. _Just because you’re too drunk to sit up, doesn’t mean you have to stop._  
So he lifted his weak grip on the black bottle, and moved the opening to his lips. He tipped it up, and drank the last few drops of the magic inside, tossing it away with the others. It clanged as it hit the already growing pile of empty bottles near his feet, and he decided to sit up.  
Anyone elses stomach would be protesting and contracting in on itself to rid the body of so much of the vile substance by now, but not Warrens.  
His stomach and brain relaxed in bliss as his world slowly spun and his body became cotton.  
He managed to sit himself upright with weak, nearly limp arms, and swallowed down the thick bile that ran up his esophagus. He hiccuped, and took a deep breath in. He could taste his mouth as it was coated in beer, and dared to smile lightly at himself.  
It was amazing; being so drunk again.  
He looked up at the sky, and the stars spun above him as his eyes seemed to be disconnected from his brain, and he fell back to the ground hard.  
 _Don’t look at the sky. Don’t do that…_  
He relaxed in his defeated position in the grass, and rolled to his side. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out there, but he had downed 25 bottles since he pushed himself through the window not long ago.  
He relaxed, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth. The air hit hard and warm on his tongue and disappeared in his burnt lungs.  
He was good like this. Let him wake up at sun rise to vomit all over himself and slip away.  
But where would he go? He couldn’t go back the way he came… He was at least smart enough in his lost state to know that he would surely get someones attention by now. But he couldn’t leave, could he?  
Well fuck.  
Eh. Whatever. He would deal with it when he woke up in a few hours… For right now, Warren was in heaven. He let himself bathe in the warm, twisting pit that was now his stomach, and let his brain take a short vacation to no where important. This was good for him. For the first time since his damned rescue, Warren wasn’t hurting. Stupid pain pills wouldn’t work for him; not for this. This was something he reserved specially for vodka, beer, and whiskey; the only things he knew that would surely listen to him.  
He drifted off in a lax state of heavy-ing numbness; but the last thought that traced through his brain on a floating log was how much he just wanted to _fly._  
But he couldn’t. Not anymore. Probably not ever. Was he okay with that?  
For right now, Warren would have to forget his sky that looked down on him with dark longing and missing, and close his eyes to the alcohol.  
He was terribly sorry for what he has become. What he has done.  
What would his mother think of him now? What would she think of him if she found out his past as a murderer locked in a cage forced to fight to live? An angel who fell from the sky and submitted to a simple drink? A son who left everything behind and destroyed the beautiful gift he was given? How he had given up so easily, and let the heavy hand of reality toss him around as it wished?  
Was she looking down at him with the stars as he lay passed out sick and sweaty in a shattered mess?  
He hoped not.  
He hoped she was in a better heaven than that. No one deserved to carry the burden that was Warren, and be forced to watch his steady decline and determined path to death.  
 _'You’re destroying yourself, Warren. Please, get back up. You are much too young to be ready to give up now so easily. Where is my determined angel, Warren? Please, come back to us…’_  
He hoped she was doing much better than he was. Even if she didn’t care about him anymore.  
Warren hoped his mother missed him, as much as he missed her.  
He felt the small smile fall from his face at blurred memories of him as a child, and what is was like to be held so lovingly.  
He wondered if it still felt the same… Being able to let someone so loved take care of you instead of an intoxicating drink. To let the tears be wiped away by soft hands, instead of drowned out by sweat. To fall asleep on a soft bed, instead of the hard ground. To know that something other than vodka cared about him, and could get him where he wanted to go.  
But he couldn’t remember, could he?  
No. Any feeling or memory he had left of what it was like to be loved was long forgotten from his brain and smothered with drunkenness.  
He was fine. Beer was okay. Whiskey was good. Vodka was perfect. He drank, and waited out the days until his heart gave up and his brain collapsed. He would be fine if he went now.  
What a story he was. The one and only Angel, not like any other, fighting to kill until he killed himself.  
Warren was okay with that. _With this._  
He was ready, he knew. _Just a little further…_ maybe he could get his hands on the pills the doctor gave him. _Just a few, it would take…_  
Warren could see him mom again. Warren could fly again… He could take her hand show her all he could do in the wide sky where his wings shone and his smile glowed.  
Yes, just a bit more. One more shove, just to hop that fence and fall into whatever it was that came after in final sleep-  
There was a hand on him.  
 _What!?_  
Warren opened his eyes to see a figure crouched in front of where his head laid on the grass.  
Wait, had his body really become this heavy? _Wow_ … new record.  
He tried to sit up, hyper aware as to who was suddenly so close to him and holding his shoulder, but his eyes rolled and his stomach flipped.  
He gasped and hiccuped again, and was held down gently but the warm hand on his hot skin.  
 _“Easy, Engel…”  
“Get away from me.”_  
“Engel, you can not sleep out here like… _this._ Please, let me-”  
Warren ripped his shoulder away from the three fingers that rested on it, and pushed himself up.  
Too fast; he gagged in a cough and fell back on his other side, and suddenly wished he really _hadn’t_ been woken up.  
Now he would puke; he was sure. His heart beat way too fast and his breath caught; he sat to his knees and his face twisted in a pang of dizzying pain.  
“Engel?” There was the hand again. Softer this time. His mind must be teasing him; no one gave a single damn or flying fuck about him. _Who would even be up this late?_ He needed to get away, but he was grounded and far too gone to even think about standing, and gripped his chest in thick panic.  
“Varren!”  
 _What!? No one called him that anymore, who would-_  
Two hands this time; on his face. His cheeks were lifted so his eyes met two yellow moons, and he stared at them as his sight cleared for the first time in hours.  
 _“You?”_ He could only breath.  
Kurt looked down at him sadly, and Warren saw just the tip of his fangs shine in the night as he opened his mouth silently.  
 _“Vhat have you done Engel?”_  
Warren was quiet. What _had_ he done?  
 _“None of your business.”_ He glared at Kurt, and pulled away sharply. His legs cooperated just enough to lift him up standing, but his brain didn’t. He groaned and gripped his face, feeling the thick cotton of bandaging under his palm as he desperately tried to steady his mind so he could walk.  
But the blue elf just wouldn’t let him go that easily, and he was suddenly falling with gravy into a warm, bony chest that embraced him easily.  
 _“Get away from me!”_ It came out as a quiet sob, and Warren froze at himself. _Was he really this pathetic? Did he seriously lose it so easily over a blue kid and a few beers?_  
“No, Varren. Come with me, I vill put you to bed,” Kurt said too gently. _Too nice._ He wasn’t supposed to care this fucking much about him.  
No one had spoken to Warren like that since his mother died. She had been the last person all those years ago to whisper soothing words and comforting noises into his hair as he was lulled asleep and his tears stopped flowing.  
Warren quickly pushed the memory away and growled low in his burning throat, thrashing against Kurts arms and jumping in an unknowing panic as he tried to get away from whatever this terrible feeling and action was.  
He tripped, stumbling over his own feet as he became dizzy again and his vision blacked out. He held his breath as he was sure he would be met with a face-full of grass and hard ground, but was suddenly caught softly against Kurts chest once again, surrounded in purple smoke shadowed black against the night air.  
He gave up then. It felt too nice being back in someones arms. Warren could not stop the painful memories or thick tears that wet his cheeks, and collapsed completely into Kurt. His lips twisted as they pulled into a frozen sob, and Warren closed his eyes against Kurts soft shirt. He normally should have knocked him down, or at least made Kurt stumble since Warren was nearly twice the size of Kurt.  
But his broken body left thin from healing and nights of refused dinner, and his hollow bones that weighed half that of a humans, each combined to make Warren much lighter than he should be.  
At this moment, the alcohol in Warrens system weighed more than he did.  
But it felt as if his chest out shined them all- feeling a hundred pounds full of longing, regret, sickness, shame, loneliness, worry, fear, and heavy intoxication that all pulled him closer to the ground.  
Good thing Kurt was there to hold the angel up when he finally gave in, and subsided to the deep unconscious world.  
***  
Warren opened his eyes at 5 in the morning to see someones room.  
 _Where was he? Why was a fan running in the window? Whose bed is this? Are his wings okay? Well, no, but… still attached. Good._  
He groaned and moved, feeling his head pound with his fast heart beat as his vision cleared enough to see that he was alone in a dorm-like room. He lay on his right side facing away from the wall, and his wings relaxed tiredly behind him on the mattress.  
Warren yawned against his will, and pushed himself up to sit. His head buzzed as blood rushed to fill his skull, and he moaned quietly as it took his sight away in a bright, black cloud.  
 _“Fucking shit…”_  
He hissed and wanted to stand, but something in his body told him to stay down. He was weaker than last night, and-  
What the fuck happened last night? Warren tried to remember why exactly he was in a strange, warm room that smelt of faint cinnamon and cedar wood, but got nothing but a blank space that signified lost memory.  
Which meant he had either been drugged and taken up here to be played with and taken, or he had gotten shit bagged so bad he had forgot the night completely.  
Considering he was in a school of mutants that were way too nice, he bet on the second one. But… that still didn’t explain all _this._  
He was dressed in thin pajamas that were just a bit too small, and surrounded in soft sheets and blankets nestled around him. The room had a warm glow of orange and yellow as the sun rose from outside through the closed blinds, and Warren knew he had been placed here with care.  
He was about to force himself up to crawl out onto the roof to escape whatever trouble he had coming, but froze when the door carefully opened with a click and Kurt walked in.  
“Engel!” He smiled widely at Warren, and set down the bottle of water and plate of strawberries he held on the desk. “Are you okay? Uh, how are you feeling?” Kurt looked like he wanted to reach out touch Warren, but held back and shifted on his feet, his smile faltering just a bit as his tail flicked and his fingers twitched.  
“You… How did I get here?” Warren asked. But when his mouth opened and his throat worked to speak, he was hit with a violent taste of vomit and beer, and he paused, trying to swallow but unable to. _He needed to get out of here. He wasn’t supposed to be taken care of; he was supposed to be forgotten after he passed out, and left in an ally or on a sidewalk to wake up and fly home in a hungover mess. Not… this._  
Kurt saw his struggle and jumped a bit, reaching for the bottle of water and hastily moving to hold it out to Warren with quivering hands.  
Warren looked at it and debated smacking it away and shoving Kurt as he would storm out the door, but his legs still wouldn’t listen, and his throat _really_ needed that damn water.  
He took it slowly and glared up at Kurt.  
“What the hell am I doing here?”  
“Oh, uh… Y-you, got very drunk last night, a-and I did not know vere your room was, so I brought you back here…” Kurt flashed him that smile again and looked at him with comfort and joy, as if he had saved some puppy from the streets.  
Kurt opened his mouth as he suddenly remembered something, and his tail swayed madly with excitement as he turned to pick the plate up from the desk. “I uh, brought you these!” He smiled down at the strawberries cut in perfect halves, and held them out to Warren for him to take. “They have always helped me when I was sick, but I did not know if you were allergic, but I brought zem anyways just in case, and I figured you would need to eat something after last night, and…” Kurt rambled on and Warren could have sworn he saw, what was that? _A purple blush?_ Forming on his cheeks against the blue?  
“What time is it?” He dropped the subject.  
“Six PM.”  
“What!? I’ve been passed out all fucking _day!?”_ Kurt winced at Warrens sudden shock and harsh snap, and slowly nodded.  
“It'z okay! I uh, think you started actually sleeping around 10 in the morning, so…”  
Warren shook his head slightly- regretting the boat-rocking pain it brought- and took the plate slowly like he had the water; looking up at Kurt confused and un-trusting as he forgot the subject once more. “I’m not sick…” His voice was like gravel as he spoke quietly and stared Kurt in the eye. By now his mouth and throat felt like sand paper, and he wasn’t sure if he could get in another sentence before he would be coughing and gagging.  
So he gave in and opened the water with weak fingers, balancing the glass plate on his lap as he took a sip.  
The water felt like ice going down, and Warren closed his eyes as the sip turned into desperate swallows- tilting his head back just a little so gravity could keep up. Warren chugged nearly the entire bottle when he finished, the plastic now crushed and bent from being nearly vacuumed out, and wiped his mouth with his wrist again as he sighed at the relief of having his throat wet again.  
Kurt, however, looked very uncomfortable and frozen in front of him. “Uh… you do not remember last night?” He asked when Warren finished his drink, and his smile fell as he winced and wrung his hands together.  
 _Uh oh. Not good._  
“Uh, no… That’s kinda the point of drinking…” Warren huffed, rolling his eyes, and trailed off as the food on the plate suddenly caught his nose, making him stare down at it with a watering mouth.  
 _He hadn’t had strawberries like this since he was sixteen._  
Kurt tensed his shoulders as Warren examined the plate before warily picking a piece of the fruit up and placing it in his mouth as if it was a bomb. “O-oh…” Kurt said to himself looked away, focusing his gaze towards the bathroom.  
Warren noticed this as he slowly chewed the slice in his mouth, but was too in love with the feeling and taste to stop and say anything. He hadn’t had food this fresh in _years,_ and he took his time swallowing down the sugary piece before speaking.  
“Why, what happened?” Warren asked, his voice stronger now, but kept quiet with worry as he looked hard up at Kurt.  
“Uh… nothing…” Kurt shook his head and rolled on his feet, his tail flicking as he twitched his eyes and looked at the floor.  
“Don’t lie to me, I’m not a dumb ass,” Warren hissed, this time speaking carefully around his food as he couldn’t help but put another piece in his mouth. His feathers, or what ones he had, stood on edge as he suddenly got a very bad feeling from Kurt.  
“Uh, nothing, really… you just, got sick, is all…” He shrugged, and Warren could see he was forcing a smile as his tail curled and fell still.  
Warren looked to the half-closed bathroom door, then back at Kurt, who stared down at him with wide eyes and an unreadable expression.  
 _“What do mean?”_ Warren narrowed his eyes and paused before eating anther piece.  
“Vhat?” Kurt shrugged and flicked his tail nervously, obviously holding back words.  
“Damn it Kurt!” Warren lost his patience and stood, going dizzy and wobbling immediately but ignoring it. The blue mutant bamfed back a few feet in surprise, and watched as Warren set the plate down on the desk and looked at him, wings spreading just a bit. “Will you quit skipping around and fucking tell me what the hell happened last night!?”  
Kurt nodded and sighed shaky, his chest heaving as he lowered his head and gaze. “Sorry, sorry,” He nodded and picked at the pants on his thighs. “You just uh, zh-threw up a lot last night,” Kurt struggled with the word and winced, but continued. “And I just had to clean you and stuff, but it was fine!” Kurt looked back up at Warren when the angel froze and looked at him in disbelief, and gave Warren a wavering smile in hopes to not have him freak out. “It'z okay! Really! I-It'z okay, it'z nothing. Do not vorry about it, you can stay here and eat and-”  
Warren cut him off with a simple look. Not a look at Kurt, but a look at himself. His gaze hit the floor like a rock, and he clenched his weak, wrapped fists the best he could. He started breathing heavily, and opened his mouth but suddenly couldn’t speak. This was too much. He had over stayed his time. He needed to go; he didn’t belong here… This wasn’t supposed to happen, and _shit, what now!?_  
“Varrren? Please do not get mad…” Kurt took a hasty step forward, and looked at Warren with so much care the angel couldn’t dare to return the gaze.  
 _“Why would you do that?”_  
“Do vhat?”  
 _“Take care of me…”_ He hissed the words. His eyes finally snapped up to stare at Kurts, and he felt his cheeks heat as his heart fluttered.  
“Because, you are my friend…” Kurt gave him a look of confusion, unknowing as to why Warren would be so upset. Didn’t he want to be helped? All Kurt had done was make sure he didn’t die out in the yard and could rest comfortably, and Warren was freaking out as if Kurt had cut his wings in his sleep.  
Warren shook his head and couldn’t tear his gaze away from the blue mutant. What was he supposed to say to that!? His _'friend!?’_ Warren didn’t have _friends,_ plain and simple.  
“No I’m not…”  
“But, you are?”  
“NO!” Warren took a step back, and was finally able to look at the door. He should have just walked out the minute he woke up in some strangers bed, but instead his stupid curiosity and wanting had gotten the better of him. Now he had been told that he had to be taken care of all night while he destroyed himself; watched like a child and treated like a baby. Christ, did Kurt even get to sleep at all last night?! How much did he exactly puke that made Kurt think Warren wouldn’t be capable of walking back to his own room or left alone!?  
The angels wings twitched and shivered, wanting to fly away and beat Kurt into the ground so word of his stupid mistake wouldn’t catch wind of the school.  
“Varren, please, calm down, it's okay! Vhy are you so upset?” Fuck, why did Kurt have to talk so sweetly to him!? He didn’t deserve one second of this treatment. He was supposed to be out cold on the grass laying in his own acid, so he could wake up and deal with himself.  
Not this…  
Warren pondered Kurts question. Why WAS it this big of a deal? Warren thought a moment, and suddenly realized that it was not the fact that he simply was too rude for nice people giving him kind words and sweet comfort, but he was scared of it.  
Cages were mean. Fights were rough. Humans were evil. Alcohol was a liar. Family was a joke.  
Warren now knew that he wanted no one taking care of him, because he simply could not comprehend it. The feeling of being loved and cared for has long died from Warrens mind; but now, what Kurt was doing had ripped it back up from its grave and began dusting it off.  
 _'How do you thank someone for that?’_ How would Warren ever just accept it and simply say, “Hey, thanks man, I appreciate it.” He couldn’t. Instead, Warren was overwhelmed with these thought-to-be-dead feelings and emotions and memories, and it was as if his entire body refreshed itself into the old Warren that had died long ago.  
Warren didn’t know what he wanted. What he was supposed to do.  
So he stared a Kurt a while; the blue mutant deflating slightly at Warrens angry and scared look, and walked out.  
He moved silently and opened the door to the hallway, and stepped out. His legs carried him mindlessly down to the infirmary the way he came last night; pieces of his night beginning to thaw in Warrens mind as he remembered what exactly he’d done.  
Two cases?  
 _Damn._ The quick thought that maybe Warren should lighten up and tone it down a bit raced across his mind, but disappeared quickly. He was fine, see? Back to his stupid hospital room to lay and heal and wait.  
“Well, look who’s up.” Hanks- he can’t remember when he’d learned his name- unamused voice sighed as Warren fell heavily on the bed.  
“You knew?” It was muffled in the pillow.  
“Of course. You’re my patient Warren, I keep track of you.” Hank paused, watching the winged mutant lay limp on the small bed. “You know, if you wanted something, you could have just asked. I could have worked something out…" _Stupid Hank using such a kind tone of voice. What shit. Warren had broken out of his room against Hanks rules and stolen the schools stuff. And this guy felt bad for him?_  
"Well, I didn’t exactly think you’d allow such behavior.” Warren met his eyes and glared from the bed to where Hank was leaned against the doorway.  
The doctor smirked, and took a few steps toward Warren with a quiet sigh. “Warren, I understand. There’s no need to be afraid…”  
“You understand _what?”_  
Hank paused, and Warren could see he had said something he hadn’t wanted to. “What?” He tried again, easily losing his patients. He didn’t like this doctor guy. He was too weird and secretive, acting as if he constantly knew more about Warren than did.  
“Nothing. Forget it.” Hank said strongly and gave him a stern look. He raised his eyebrows when he caught sight of what Warren was wearing, and smiled a bit. “Huh. Kurt really does care about you…” He smiled and reached over to pull the blanket up to cover Warren.  
There it was again. Those words.  
 _Don’t feel that._  
Warren felt his face twitch against the cotton between the bandages and pillow, and his eyes darted anywhere but at himself and Hank looking down at him.  
“W-what do you mean?” Fuck his voice for cracking.  
“He came and told me about you last night, and insisted I let you stay in his room until you woke up… He really didn’t want to leave you alone, and I just can’t say no to that kid.” Hank chuckled quietly. “He was pretty determined to take care of you.”  
Warren was done with this. His chest and stomach fought a war and his brain was suddenly caught in the cross fire as he struggled to stop his spinning world from crashing.  
 _“Leave me alone.”_  
Hanks smile dropped from his face slightly, and he nodded. “I’ll be back in an hour to replace your bandaging.” Warren thinks he said something else, but he was already gone. His mind slipped easily from reality as he gave into the dragging tiredness, and let the blanket encase him on his journey to deep sleep.

***

_Kurt managed to successfully bamf Warren and himself to his own room, and the angel fell heavily from Kurts arms onto the bed as soon as he arrived. He hit the mattress and his eyes opened for a second- a gagging hiccup choking from his throat has he bounced and landed.  
Kurt put his hands over his mouth and froze as Warren rolled to his side, swallowing as he seemed to come-to half way for just a few seconds, but his eyes stayed closed. Warren swallowed again and hiccuped, face wincing as his legs tried to move. He groaned low in his throat as his head dropped back, sweat gathering on the rim of his shirt and in his hairline.  
“Oh, Engel!” Kurt sighed in a whisper as Warren growled a moan of pain and numbness, and ran to the bathroom. Grabbing the bucket from under the sink, he rushed to the bed side and placed it on the floor. “Varren, if you have to puke, use zis!” He tried reaching the angels ears, but Warren only responded with furrowed eyebrows and a low groan.  
Kurt really didn’t know what to do from here. He sat on the foot of the bed, stiffly and slowly as not to move Warren anymore. He watched as the angel lay on his side, sick and sweating wrapped in gauze and messy feathers, and felt a pang in his heart.  
His poor angel.  
Why must he do this to himself?  
Warren suddenly sat up half way, leaning on a quivering elbow half over the bed and bowing his head.  
“Varren?”  
Warren gagged, and a wave of hot vomit left his throat as he collapsed on his chest. His head hung over the bed and his hands gripped the sheets the best they could as he quivered and his stomach clenched.  
Kurt watched as Warren emptied himself and ended in a rough cough. The blue mutant stood in shock, and covered his nose as the stench of rot filled the room. “Engel…” He could only sigh as Warren moaned a cry and fell limp, face hidden from Kurt by his hair and the darkness of the night.  
Kurt somehow got the bucket out and thrown away in the schools back trash, and back to Warren before the angel tried to make any other move or let himself go again.  
He brought the trash can over this time, and set it in the same place. The room now stunk to high hell, and Kurt only lasted a few seconds before throwing the window open and bamfing out. He went to the kitchen first, and grabbed the pack of cinnamon sticks from the coffee counter. He then teleported to one of the supply closets in the hall, and took out the first candle he saw.  
Re-entering his room, the smell hadn’t died down a bit since there was no wind that night coming in through the window. Warren was in the same position he had collapsed in, and looked terribly uncomfortable and twisted hanging by an inch off the bed. Kurt set the supplies down on his desk, and silently walked over to him. Ignoring the strong smell of vomit and sweat, Kurt lifted the angel like he was glass, and set him more on his side so he looked at least a little better. He easily lifted Warrens head, careful as not to even get near his wounds, and pushed the pillow under him.  
Kurt didn’t know how people were supposed to act after something like this, but he stood a second, watching Warren. He didn’t look happy- his face was frozen in a frown of pain and he breathed with his mouth open. His lips were wet, but not from spit, and his hair stuck to his hot forehead.  
Kurt knew it must be terrible, but he couldn’t do anything about the taste that must be in his mouth.  
How did Warren ever do this on his own? Was it halways this bad?  
Kurt frowned, and after brushing Warrens bangs aside with a careful claw, examining his face as it calmed just a bit, he picked the candel and cinnamon up gain.  
He moved them to the other side of the room, and lit the fall sented candel carefully. He crunched part of one stick up into a powder and dripped it over the melting wax; a trick he learned from having to get rid of the stench of the circus years ago.  
Within a minute, the room was bathed in the warm smell of autumn and comfort, and he sighed with relief as his nose and brain could relax.  
Which now only left him with the problem of Warren and what he would do next. He drug the tip of his fang over his lip, and sat again on the edge of the bed gently by the angel. He lifted his fingers, and repeated what his mother always did to him when he was a yong boy and sick in bed.  
He rubed his hand slowly up Warren ribs, feeling the bandaging through the thick shirt. He repeated the motion, and continued on when Warren visibly relaxed. The angel drooped his head to one side, and his face fell flat at last.  
Kurt smiled as he stroked Warren, and felt his own heart flutter with heat and longing.  
He loved this stupid angel, and couldn’t pin point why. All he knew for sure, was that Warren was his to take care of, at least for the night.  
He’d always wanted a love to care about help through rough times like this. Someone to stroke and help and whisper to in times of need.  
Kurt scooted a bit closer, relaxing, and moved his hand to stroke Warren hair back out of his face. The blonde curls stuck between his fingers as they were wet with sweat and grossly matted, so he took his time combing through them and making sure they were as soft as possible. Kurt couldn’t stop the smile from widening on his lips as he realized he was finally abel to touch the angel as had been dreaming of for so long.  
Running his hand through Warrens messy hair. Stroking his side to ease his sore stomach. Watching over him as he lay safe in Kurts bed.  
He loved Warren. He woud take care of him.  
And when Kurt got up two hours later to get himself a water from the kitchen, and came back to Warren so relaxed he had pissed all over himself and the bed, Kurts feeling didn’t waver a bit.  
He went to the closet again, and pulled out a spare bed set; taking them to his room and managing to get Warren on the floor while he changed them out.  
But when the bed was done, soaked sheets aside, Kurt looked down at Warren and his soaked pants, and knew he was going to need help this time.  
Hank was the biggest person he knew, and he found his room easily. Kurt knew it was rude to just bamf in and wake someone up without knocking, but he had no time to waist. Hs angel was currently on the floor in his own urine, passed out and possibly puking again.  
“Hank! Hank, please! Vake up!” The doctor woke in a second, and rubbed his eyes in surprise.  
“Christ, what the hell Kurt?!” Kurt frowned and flicked Hank with his tail at his curse, and spoke quickly “Vhere are your pajamas!?”  
“My what!?”  
“Pajamas! Just tell me!” If Kurt was being this pushy, Hank knew somethig was up.  
“What did you do?” Hank was now wide awake and sat up, staring at the other blue mutant sternly. Kurt gowled and sighed.  
“Nozing! I just need zhem!”  
“Kurt.”  
“It'z Varren…” Kurt sighed and gave in.  
Hank paused, and realiztion set in. “Shit. What did he do?”  
“He just got drunk and… Gah! I vill tell you in zhe morning! Just please, vhere are zhey!?”  
Hank listened this time, and got up to pull out a fresh set of soft clothes from the dresser. Kurt quickly thanked him, and bamfed back into his own room.  
Warren was thankfully in the same position as he had left him, and Kurt crouched by him.  
He was glad he had decided to put the shaggy rug Jean had gifted him with when he arrived by his bed, and rolled Warren on his back onto the soft yarn.  
Geeze, he was heavy. But Kurt worked with it, and managed to get Warrens shirt and pants off after a while of struggling against his wings.  
It didn’t feel as awkward as Kurt thought it would. His angel needed him, so he did what he had to and tossed the clothes in the tub.  
But his underwear was still on, ruined and tight as they plastered angainst Warren.  
Kurt frowned, but with saddness rather than embarassment.  
His poor angel. Why must he drink so much?  
He took them off, and relaized that it was going to take more than a change of clothes to get rid of this.  
He bamfed Warren into the tub, flicking his tail up to turn on the bright lights, and Warren still did not stir.  
He hissed as he threw Warrens clothes aside and they landed heavily on the floor, and set the angel in a sitting position so he back was to Kurts chest as he crouched behind him. Warren was twice as heavy passed out cold, and his wings hung limp and in the way as Kurt tried to get him stable in front of him.  
As soon as Kurt had gotten Warren sitting up; his feet under the fauset as his legs bent and spread for Kurt to clean, he leaned back laxly against the blue mutant as he moved his tail to turn the water on.  
Warren didn’t flinch or move when the loud water hit the tub and the faucet rang, and stayed dead against Kurts chest and hands as the blue boy grabbed the sponge and soaked it.  
Kurt paused a moment; taking in the situation he suddenly realized he had put himself in.  
Here he was, washing the very mutant that had just tried to destroy the world and kill them all as he lay passed out in his own urine- burned and broken at two in the morning.  
Kurt did not mind though. His angel needed him, he remembered. Warren was simply broken, in more ways than one. And Kurt would help put him back together- fix the mistake he made. Fight for what he so desperately wanted.  
So Kurt soaked down Warren, did his job, lifted him out of the tub, dried and dressed him, and set him back in bed to rest as he deserved._


End file.
